Come Out & Play

Pings of drizzly summer rain dance on tin rooftops that line the alleyway. In my studio on the second floor, droplets pierce the ripped, mesh screened window as each one—a minute liquid warrior—tears its way through the tiny holes and splashes into a puddle on the worn, white ledge. Voices from the neighboring front porch trickle upwards and drift through my apartment, all the way to the back bedroom, where I fittingly listen to Bloodbank in the warm, yellowy glow of a single lamp.